


These Boots Were Made For...

by mixedwithintellect



Category: Don't Let Me Go - Harry Styles (Song), Kiwi - Harry Styles (Song), Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band), Sweet Creature - Harry Styles (Song)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 19:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15825786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixedwithintellect/pseuds/mixedwithintellect
Summary: This was my first piece (ever) on Tumblr, and I wanted to post it here because I have so many cute memories with it!OR:the one where Harry's a bit odd but Y/N wouldn't have it any other way





	These Boots Were Made For...

“How’s meh walk?”

“I wouldn’t compare it  _directly_  to a chimpanzee, but it’s close enough.”

He huffed in annoyance, eyes flickering towards the ceiling. Harry was lounging on your sofa, head resting on one end and his legs sprawling out towards the other. It was a typical Thursday afternoon, the sky pillowed with thick, grey clouds that covered the ground with sloshed rain. You two were inside, comfortably cool in an otherwise humid weather, not having left your apartment all day.

You used to be worried Harry would be bored quickly with your flat, considering the amount of time he spent within the confines of the small place you could afford. You two didn’t go out often, either because he was “just  _done”_ with the outside world, or because you were (yet again) cramming in more studying before an exam. Yet, he always managed to find  _something_ to do, some leaky faucet that needed fixing, to bring over some interesting novels for your growing library, to cook a new pasta bolognese recipe he heard about from his makeup artist. You had to admit, though, you didn’t mind. You liked having him there, even if he lectured you constantly on the importance of refilling your tissue boxes after they’d run out.

Having most of your couch taken up by a millionaire clad in black shorts and a crumpled Hawaiian shirt, you were curled up against one side of the love seat adjacent to the sofa. A blanket was tucked nicely around your legs, the only noises drifting along the edges of the flat being the rain and the low sound of a family sitcom on the TV. You had been absorbed in the book meant for your coursework, and were under the impression Harry fell asleep half an hour ago. Modern sitcoms usually failed to get his attention and more often than not, he would take a quick nap during the quirky and zany hooliganisms.

“(Y/N), I’m bein serious.”

“I’m  _seriously_  confused as to what you’re on about. What criteria should I be using, H?”

“The criteria of  _potential,_ love. ‘M I taking full advantage of meh legs? Full stride and all. Do I have wiggle room to be walkin’ faster, goin’ longer?”

The audience on the TV let out falsified laughter, as if on cue.

You took a minute, tapping the tip of your pen against your bottom lip as you gave his absurd question a half-assed consideration. He looked at you, expectant, wiggling his toes for emphasis as you stared, hard at his legs to judge their ‘potential’. Something caught your eye.

“Harry, do you man-scape your legs?”

“(Y/N)!” he whined, “Not the focus. Help meh out with this. I wanna be ‘fficient.”

And out came his child-man pout.

“I want to be studying.”

“Let meh show you a normal walk, ‘lright? Then I’ll go for a full potential. Say which looks more impressive.”

You shrugged, putting your book down and curling your legs beneath you. Most of the time, Harry was fairly serious. His quips were kept mainly to himself (unless you were nearby, in which he would mumble them to you – just to get a semblance of a smile with the half-hearted shove) and his latest album had taken up most of his energy. Anything left was reserved for family dinners and hanging with friends. Although he was never a killjoy to be around, his humorous and weirder moments were increasingly rare. You were planning on enjoying it while it lasted, no matter how strange his requests became.

Besides, for as long as you two had been friends, it was difficult to tell Harry no, especially when his hair, left to its own devices, was sticking out in random puffs and poofed curls. He had the appearance of an adorable, but disgruntled, 8 year old boy who had been woken up in the middle of the night.

Harry turned off the television, leaning upwards and stretching his back out, groaning out something about getting properly warmed up. He walked by you to reach the entrance to the living room, before turning around and staring.

You blinked, unsure as to what he expected from you, before coming to the realization that him walking to the doorway was, in fact, his Beginning Walk. Harry didn’t look disappointed at your lack of exuberant cheering, though, he simply shrugged and nodded.

“Fair enough, love. Yeah, I’m sayin, it’s nothing impressive.”

He continued onwards, taking his new and improved steps across the room. His shorts kept him from going full-out splits across the flooring (which you weren’t sure he could’ve succeeded with, anyway) but the overall appearance was similar to a wobbly, unbalanced monster stumbling throughout a city, attempting not to crush the townspeople below. His soft grunts only added to the effect, especially when his eyes kept trained on yours, watching every crevice of your face for feedback. He knew you weren’t likely to be taking him seriously.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head once he made it to your feet and stood upright, running his fingers through his scruffed hair.

“Brilliant, H. I say just continue that for the rest of your life, saves loads of time and you’ll stand out as the Most Efficient Walker.”

“Sounds like a dream,” he agreed, collapsing upon the other side of the loveseat. You reached out, curling one of his fallen-out swirls of hair with the tips of your fingers.

He sat still, watching you as you worked. You let go of the piece and it fell against his cheek, a densely curled bounce of hair that looked more ‘Shirley Temple’ than ‘Harry Styles’. He looked at it from the angle he could, tilting his head to the side and raising his eyebrows, pursing his lips as he tried to get a glimpse of it.

“Don’t change,” you mumbled, still looking at his hair to avoid making contact with his confused glance.

“Won’t.” He murmured, leaning his head back against the cushion. Harry was used to hearing this, from random family members and friends who had no reason to worry, but didn’t know any other emotion to maintain when their son/brother/friend was a global icon.

“Even in your Gucci boots with the price-tag of my book collection put together, you keep it Harry, yeah?”

The words were pastel tissue paper, soft against the tapping of the rain on the window, casting the room in a glow of summer yellows and baby blues. You could almost see the shades of pink on the apples of Harry’s cheeks as he worked to bite back a grin, nodding.

You strained yourself, shifting your blanket around your form as a makeshift barrier, to keep from coming closer. To remain a distance that maintained a sense of platonic care for one another, because the territory that lay across the line was one in which neither of you believed would end well. It was hung in the air, the unspoken potential that rose above Harry’s legs to the concept of you two not needing an excuse, a reason for him to come over and spend a few days sleeping on your sofa. For him to keep a few pairs of boots in your closet, in case “’ne pair gets dirty, I’ll need backup.”

Harry moved his stare from the freckles splayed on your nose, to the plants you had sporadically around the flat. Silence felt comfortable, he knew you didn’t mind when he shifted to a more reserved personality. Harry brought his legs against yours and wiggled his toes to get them underneath the blanket, feeling you shudder a bit when his cold feet stuck between your legs.

“Your legs feel prickly. Haven’t shaved in a few days?” you teased.

“Could say the same to yeh, love.”

And out came the dimples. 


End file.
